


The Cure

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: After the Blight [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Inquisition’s celebration after defeating Corypheus, Regan Cousland had managed to surprise her husband, King Alistair.  Now, in the relative privacy of their room in Skyhold,she has a surprise.  But will it work?</p><p>NSFW-ish (nothing blatant, maybe a few words and hints here and there).  Fairly sure this’ll end up being a 2 part thing, so we’ll just call this part one.  With art at the end, even!  (Commissioned from the awesomely wonderful slugette)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure

“So, what’s this, love?”  Regan stroked her fingertip along the hairy line of his jaw.  They were finally alone … no audience, no Inquisitor, no threat to either one’s life.  The room the Inquisition had allowed them was cozy – large enough for a bed, a chair, a dresser, and an armor stand; that was it, and it was plenty.  She bit back a grin at his slight shiver, enjoying the way his eyes fluttered closed before she brought her finger down to trace through the hair on his chin.

Alistair found himself leaning toward her, almost chasing her finger as he smiled.  He lifted his hand, rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly.  “I … um, I … started letting it grow … after your last letter.”

“ _This_ is six months’ worth of growth?”  She was stunned.  While the beard _was_ more hair than she was used to, it certainly didn’t seem like it would have taken six months to grow; maybe half that, _maybe_.  She trailed her fingers through the bushy addition to his features before leaning in for a kiss.

“Not exactly,” he admitted once she’d pulled back.  He lifted a hand, ran his fingers through her hair; hair that was _much_ shorter than he remembered, could no longer be pulled into a ponytail, showing more gray than she’d left home with.  “I had … wanted to let it grow until you returned, as … kind of a punishment for being gone so long.  Your last letter sounded … hopeful, and I was convinced I would see you by month’s end.”  He sighed softly, leaning in to bury his nose in her hair.  Her whispered apology for the delay was brushed aside.  He needed no apology; not when she was here, now.  Maker, he’d missed her so much.  

“Of course, obviously it took you a bit longer.  Eamon was … less than thrilled by the time the third month rolled around.  Said it wasn’t proper for a king to go all … shaggy.”  He frowned, remembering the … conversation.  There had been a _lot_ of yelling between the king and his advisor that day.  “Of course, he used more flowery language, but it all came down to the same thing.  I think some of the staff had bets going on whether I would give in or no.”

“Well, given that you still have the miniature redwood forest growing on your chin,” Regan teased, leaning in to kiss his nose, “I’m going to assume the ones that bet in your favor were happy?”

Alistair laughed, pulling her in for a gentle kiss.  “Yes and no.  As it turns out … I’m a rather heavy sleeper, apparently.”  He frowned as his wife started laughing.  “What’s so funny?”

“That must be a recent development,” she teased.  “I seem to remember a warden … and a king, who woke every time I moved to get closer … or get out of bed.”  She finally grew tired of standing, guided him toward the sturdy-looking chair.  It _almost_ looked comfortable, and while she knew certain … desires would soon push all else from their minds, she was content for the time being just … being near him. 

He smiled, following her lead and taking a seat before tugging her into his lap.  “Yes, well ….  I had very little reason to sleep lightly with you gone.”  He leaned in to nuzzle just below her ear, biting back a moan as her soft whimper reached his ear.  “Much to Eamon’s dismay.  I _think_ he assumed I would take a mistress or ten while you were away.”

“Perhaps I should have a word with our dear advisor when we return to Denerim?”  She licked her lips, one hand stroking lightly at the hair on the back of his neck.  

“No need, love,” Alistair soothed, running a hand along her spine.  He had to admit … the dress she’d chosen looked perfect on her; simple, understated … deceptively so.  She was never one for the overly dramatic styles favored by most of the nobility.  Even the color, chosen to pay tribute to her role as a warden without necessarily giving away her identity, seemed to suit her.  He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed seeing her in … and out of … a dress.  His breath hitched when she leaned down, nipped at the edge of his ear.  “I … made it clear to him that I would _not_ be taking a mistress and that there was nothing he could do to change my mind.”  He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, trying to … not ignore, exactly, but resist, her teasing.  “Maybe that’s why he had someone sneak in and reduce the masterful bush covering my face to this.  Now that you’re back, he will be relieved to see it gone.”

“Oh, I don’t know, dear heart,” she purred softly, nuzzling at his furred jaw.  “I think I might like it.  Maybe trim it up just a bit, but … I think it makes you look … dashing.”  She slid fingers down his throat, slowly popping buttons free as she worked her way down his chest.  “I think Ferelden could use a dashing king, don’t you?”

“Dashing, hmm?”  Alistair groaned as her lips met his throat, hips bucking slightly at the contact.  “I think I can work with … dashing.”  He leaned forward as she shoved the formal jacket from his shoulders, pulling his arms free as soon as he was able.  It felt so good to be free of that monstrosity, even more-so when she was the one flinging it to one side.  “Maker’s breath, woman; I missed you.”  He gently lifted her face to his, missing the feel of her lips on his skin but desperate to taste them yet again.  

She grinned against his mouth, tongue teasing his before she started suckling on his bottom lip.  “And I missed you, my love; more than you could possibly imagine.”  The second year had been the hardest.  Once Jasper had died, she was left with no one she trusted explicitly.  Oh, the wardens she’d set out with and the few companions she’d picked up here and there were fine enough in a pinch, but she never did feel she could rely on them like she did her mabari, or Alistair; not even Nathaniel.  “I’m sorry it took me so long to make it back.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love.”  He smiled, ran his fingers through her hair again, finding himself unable to stop staring.  “You came back.  That’s all that matters to me.  You came back to me, in one piece.”  He rocked his hips into her, biting his lip as she shifted positions to straddle his lap, press herself against him.  Andraste’s ass, why were there still so many layers between them?  He slid his hands around to search for whatever was keeping that dress on her; it needed to be gone.  Where were those blasted laces?

“You realize I’m going to keep apologizing,” she teased until his attempts to release her from the dress pulled her against him, her breasts coming to rest just below his nose.  She purred as his lips and tongue danced across her skin, his beard tickling and scratching with each movement.  She bit her lip, rolled her hips against him as he finally found the knot and worked it loose.  “But … at least I managed to find it.”

He froze, hands stilling somewhere in the middle of the lacing as her words sunk in.  “You … you found it?” he repeated, eyes wide.  When she nodded, he didn’t know what to say … what to do.  She’d managed to find a way to actually rid them of the taint?  They could finally just be … normal?  He closed his eyes, tried to remember how to sense something he had considered more a burden than blessing over the last decade.  He tried … searched for that familiar stirring at the back of his skull … or gut … or wherever it used to creep up.  There was … nothing.  “You took it?  Without me?”

She bit her lip, at least having the courtesy to look apologetic.  “We had to test it,” she explained softly, reaching up to brush the backs of her fingers against his cheek.  “Four wardens died before we got the mixture right.  And I’m … not sure you’ll like it.  It’s … painful, and it tastes _awful_.”  She closed her eyes, remembered the hours of agony as the potion all but burned through her.  “But it _does_ remove the taint, and it’s less likely to kill someone than the Joining is.”  She leaned in, brushed her lips over his cheek, his nose, his chin, before finally landing on his lips, hoping he could forgive her for taking that step without him.  After all, she’d brought a dose for him, carried it along with news of a different sort.

He absentmindedly returned her kiss, too busy trying to process the information she’d just dropped in his lap.  He could be rid of the taint.   _She_ was already rid of it.  There was a chance … a _good_ chance, he told himself, that they could produce an heir without the corruption in the way.  As much as he wanted to take her, to feel her wrapped around him in ways he’d only been able to dream about for more than two years, the prospect of being able to actually get her with child was enticing.  Ignoring the small voice demanding he wait until after making her scream his name at least once, he pushed her back, just a little.  “Let me take it now.”

“Now?” Regan repeated, surprised.  She had expected … well, she had expected him to want to wait, at least until they had had a night together, especially after learning it would be painful.  But here he was, looking up at her with those eyes, that expression that she’d only once been able to say ‘no’ to.  She wanted to tell him no, to wait until they weren’t in a strange place surrounded by almost nothing but strangers.  She wanted to, but couldn’t.  With a faint smile, she nodded, reluctantly climbing off his lap.  “You should probably go lay down.  Once this stuff starts working, you’ll be glad for a soft bed.”

Alistair nodded, immediately missing the feel of her in his lap.  Why had he decided not to wait again?  He moved to the bed, scooting back against the headboard to watch her pull a vial from one of the pouches hanging from the wall.  The dark liquid swirled in its glass enclosure, color shifting from a deep violet to red with each step she took.  He saw her hand shake slightly as she came to a stop next to the bed.  The look on her face was one he rarely saw; the last time he remembered seeing it was when she left him at the gates of Denerim to face the archdemon – fear, hope, excitement all rolled into one.  

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked once more, wanting to make absolutely certain he wasn’t going to change his mind.  “It’s not like the Joining; you don’t just … pass out; that would be a mercy.  It will feel like your blood is burning.  You will want nothing more than to die, to end it all right then and there.”  She reached out, ran a hand along his still shirt-covered arm tentatively.  “I’d take these off if I were you.  It might be slightly more comfortable.”

“Only if you do the same,” he answered, leaning up to pull his shirt free.  “Would you … I mean, if it isn’t too much bother or too dangerous ….”  He laid back, lifted his hips to slide his trousers off, leaving just his smallclothes in place.  “Can you stay with me?  While this painful burning and death-wish-inducing torture-thing is going on?  Please?”  He stared up at her, biting his lower lip.  As much as he wanted to be free of the taint, he was nervous … maybe even scared.  

She nodded, reaching up to pull the dress from her shoulders.  He’d managed to loosen the ties enough that she could squirm her way free from the garment, tossing it off to the side.  She hid a half-smile as she imagined the horrified look on Leliana’s face if she’d seen; the woman had _raved_ about that gown while helping her dress.  The smile grew when Regan noticed the look on Alistair’s face.  She could tell he was torn – between wanting her and just wanting her to comfort … assure him, and it made her heart thump loud in her ears and her insides clench.  She left the silken shift Leliana had insisted she wear underneath on, thinking the cool fabric might help during the worst of it.  “Of course, dear heart.” 

Alistair licked his lips, that small voice at the back of his head screaming for him to wait … just long enough to feel her around him, to be inside her, to make her scream his name.  And he almost listened.  Seeing her, standing there in just that shift, he almost caved to the will of that little voice.  He swallowed, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, tried to calm his raging blood.  When he finally looked at her again, noticing the concerned tilt of her head, he smiled and scooted to one side, allowing her easier access to a spot next to him.  Maker, please let this work.

Climbing into bed, she was almost more nervous than their first night together.  It was silly; they were married for Andraste’s sake.  There was no reason to be nervous about climbing into bed with her _husband_.  But knowing what he was in for … the pain he was going to endure, knowing there wouldn’t be a damned thing she could do to lessen that pain; she feared for him.  “Come here,” she whispered, opening her arms to him.  Once he was snuggled against her, head resting against her breast, she uncorked the vial.  “You’ll feel like you are dying,” she warned again, wishing she had some _good_ memories of the process to give him.  “I’ll be with you every second, but I can’t promise you’ll notice after a while.”  She held the vial in front of him, watched him take it with trembling hands.

“Did you … was there someone ….”  He took the vial carefully, watching the liquid swirl before tilting his head to look at her.  “Did you have someone with you when you …?”

“Not like this,” she assured him, brushing her lips against his forehead.  “Nate and I took it at the same time, so they put us in the same tent.  I’m still not sure whose screams were louder.”  She shivered slightly, remembering reaching out for the one Warden … _one friend_ she’d managed to convince to come with her.  The most contact they’d been able to manage was to grip hands, and even that didn’t last past the first hour.  “I love you, Alistair.”

“And I love you, my dearest wife.”  He leaned up to kiss her lips, trying not to let on just how nervous he was, then lifted the vial and drank.  It tasted … well, it tasted like death.  There was no other way to describe it.  It tasted like every foul thing he’d ever had to eat as a child all mixed into one disgustingly liquid blob.  He opened his mouth to say … something … and before he managed to get out more than one word, the first waves of discomfort hit.  It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected; just slightly worse than the time he’d gotten food poisoning from some concoction he’d eaten in Orlais.  

“This is … isn’t so bad,” he groaned, clutching at his stomach and near burying his face in her chest.  He felt the cool touch of silk against his temple and tried to ignore the burbling of his gut.  “I … I’m sorry about Jasper.  I wish … I wish I could have … been there.”  He wasn’t sure why he suddenly remembered the letter he’d received a year ago, lamenting her treasured mabari’s passing.  Maybe it was because he was trying to think of anything other than the slow burn forming around his insides.

“It’s alright, Alistair.”  Regan let her fingers slide along his spine, her other hand reaching up to trace his lips, waiting for the first real pains to kick in.  She remembered how confident Nathaniel had been when the crippling pain they’d been warned of didn’t hit right away.  In the beginning, it felt … well, it felt like a bad stomach ache.  They’d almost convinced themselves to rejoin their companions when the burning started.  “You would have been proud of us; he and I took down an ogre all by ourselves before some stupid magic user hit him with a spell.  At his age, he just … couldn’t shake it off.”

“You said you … oh, ow.  You said you gave him a proper send off?”  Ok, the pain was getting a little worse.  If felt like it was moving from his gut outward.  Still wasn’t horrible, but it didn’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy.  

She felt him stiffen, heard a waver in his voice that she wasn’t sure he was even aware of.  It was starting faster for him than it had for her … or maybe she had just blocked out much of it.  That wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest.  “Yes.  Nate and I built a pyre, sent him to the Maker like I would for any soldier who fell in battle.”  She had cried … harder than she’d cried for Cailan.  She might have cried harder than she had for even her parents and Rory; she couldn’t recall.  “How are you fee-.”

Alistair cut her off with a loud cry.  No words, just sound.  Maker, it _hurt_.  It felt like he was literally burning from the inside out.  Every nerve in his body was screaming.  No, wait, that was just him; screaming and crying and trying not to thrash about.  He couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop.  He grabbed at her, clutching her as best he could while trying not to crawl out of his skin.   Eyes squeezed shut.  He knew if he opened them, they’d just melt, or he’d see his skin ripped apart by the flames that were burning through every inch of his insides.  

Regan wished she’d thought to bring a basin of cool water closer to the bed, though she wasn’t sure it would have helped if she had.  The only thing she could do was hold him, running fingers through his hair and down his spine whenever the thrashing stopped.  Those breaks were always short … too short to be of any use to him, she knew.  Tears filled her eyes as she watched his head whip back, his spine arch and body tighten again, more screams filling the room.  Someone was going to hear … come investigate eventually.  She could only imagine what it would look like … the king of Ferelden screaming in pain while his wife just held him, crying.  Would anyone believe that she wasn’t trying to kill him?

 

And here’s the art by the oh-my-gawd awesomely amazing [slugette](slugette.tumblr.com)


End file.
